For Better or For Worse
by EleanorKate
Summary: Whilst she would promise him for better or for worse, her mother's reaction to their engagement could only be the latter
1. Chapter 1

_Part 1 of 4_

Camilla didn't want to meet her mother; especially not for afternoon tea at the Savoy. They would sit, politely drinking tea and eating cakes Camilla expecting to avoid delicate subjects as was her mother's usual want.

They had barely spoken since that miserable tea party where she had met Peter and Camilla had foolishly allowed her mother to frighten her into submission once more. Camilla would not have known what she would have done if he had not smiled and kissed her when she had turned up at the Police Station. She could not have borne the pain or embarassment if he had rejected her.

Part of her thought he might and frankly it would serve her right, but had she failed to take that leap she _would_ have regretted it more. If they had not sat and talked for hours that evening in the darkest corner of the dining rooms that they could find, she would not have stayed put in Poplar. no matter how much she loved living at Nonnatus. Accidently (and metaphorically) bumping into him would be the wickedest prospect she could contemplate.

This new invitation for tea had come out of the blue; a note taken by Sister Bernadette left for her by the telephone. She had planned her afternoon off to perfection until that note appeared - finishing off that blouse that had been sitting half sewn for weeks and then the café on the Dock Road for tea with Peter before his shift started. How much she wished that she was sitting in the dank little café, with its smell of Stardrops and greasy chips, instead of the bright, glaring opulence of her current surroundings.

Their tea had been served with barely a word passing between them.

"So am I to take it that you remain involved?" her mother suddenly hissed under her breath.

"Pardon?" Camilla replied, genuinely surprised and unsure what her mother was driving at, about to put her cup to her lips.

"I said," she replied. "Are you still involved with that man?"

"If you mean Peter, then yes I am".

She was not for lying as it would only serve to make matters worse if their plans came to fruition. She saw her mother shake her head, seemingly still astounded at her youngest child's defiance.

"So I take it that you intend to continue with the charade even though you know full well how inappropriate he is?"

She wanted to scream at her that this lovely, kind, gallant man was not 'inappropriate' by anybody's standards. Instead, however she suppressed tears that were threatening to flow out of anger and frustration and, as she had done for most of her life, swallowed her words and her terrors and did not answer.

Her mother decided that she needed to be direct. "Do you plan to marry him?"

She wondered for a moment how her mother knew, but chose not to ask. She had been too wary to tell her; fearful of the response she would receive, even though she knew that day would have to dawn at some juncture.

"Yes, Mother. I do", she replied, even though she was sure that her voice was not that of a prospective new bride dashing to her mother, bursting with the news, mind whirling with plans of her future vows.

Her mother breathed pointedly in an effort to calm herself, fury raging its way around her veins again. How she had hoped that it would not be true.

The gossip she had heard whispered around her circle was right after all and it angered her.


	2. Chapter 2

_2 of 4_

She had said 'yes' to him exactly one week ago, sitting by the fire in his parents parlour as he house sat for them one Friday night, waiting for them to roll in drunk when the landlord at the end of the street threw them out.

He had got down on one knee as he had promised during his clumsy half proposal on the steps of Nonnatus House, took her hand, recited her ghastly protracted full name and asked her to marry him. This time, sitting on the floor basking in the warmth of the fire, she was not going to refuse him; even though she had been engulfed by a ridiculous, nervous feeling that she was going to laugh that she had to quell as it bubbled in her stomach.

"Might I ask if a date has been agreed upon?" her mother asked.

"25th September"

"This year or next?" If it had been next, there was still the possibility that she could still be browbeaten into refusing to go through with the ceremony and as much as she was still afraid of her mother's reaction, the girls had been right, comforting her when they had found her crying in the Chapel.

"This".

"This year!?" her mother suddenly blurted out, before looking around desperately for any heads that may have turned her way.

"Yes. It was Peter's suggestion and I agree with him that we want to get married as soon as possible".

It _had_ been his idea to get married as soon as they could. For him, he just wanted to stand by her side as her husband, but she knew his patience was running thin as well. She felt alive for the first time in too many years when she was in his company, alive and trusting enough to consider giving herself to him. Deep down, she knew now it was a matter of time rather than the matter of a wedding ring.

Camilla knew, when it came to it, she should have ensured her mother was one of the first people that ought to have known, but there were too many memories of her mother's disapproval even from when she was a small child that would interfere with her judgment. She knew she had to tell her one day, and she would have done.

"Dare I ask where?" Her voice was becoming tighter.

"All Saints on the Dock Road"

Lady Browne was astonished. "My daughter" she whispered, although there was a distinct bite to her tone, "thinking she is getting married to a beat bobby at barely a moment's notice in the middle of the East End?"

Camilla took a mouthful of tea. She was not_ thinking_ of marrying him.

"Do you even have an engagement ring?"

"No", Camilla whispered in response. "I really cannot say I want one".

"He cannot afford one I think is the more feasible answer, Camilla. At least not to the standard somebody of your breeding should be expecting".

"I am not going to ask him to spend single shilling on me". Camilla knew deep down that he could never afford an engagement ring but she did not require a token to know they were going to be married in less than 6 weeks' time. She knew that if she had become engaged to any of the prospective suitors that her mother had paraded her in front of all those years ago, that she could have been presented with a diamond the size of Guru Shikhar. She could not have accepted such a falsehood.

Her mother dabbed the side of her mouth with her napkin and shook her head.

"I really have no inclination what to do about this situation. It had been my dearest hope you would marry one day, but this…", she paused, waving her hand in the air towards her daughter.

"A child of mine, living like this. I have no idea how I will explain this to our friends that you do not intend to marry appropriately. You wilfully ignored my request to end the relationship and in fact you seem to be thumbing your nose at your father and me by continuing with this carry on. Would you like to know how I found out?"

"No" Camilla thought to herself, her spirit, soaring when she had talked about him, now slipping away into its own quiet corner to hide.

"I found out from what I mistakenly believed was salacious gossip, that's how!"

Not many of her mother's counterparts (or their daughters) could say they did anything more than being a decorative chattel on the arm of their husband, tolerating gambling, alcoholism and wandering eyes for the sake of appearances. At least, when it came to it, she could say that Peter certainly didn't treat her like an object – no gambling, no smoking and no chasing other women. He only ever drank Whiskey and she was started to slowly get a taste for it herself.

Her mother carried on.

"Have I not said it before? It was difficult enough when you decided to go to that Godforsaken place. People would ask about you, where you were, and the question would always follow me. Now I have to explain why you intend to marry beneath yourself. Camilla, you have money and status. You could have a _title_ if you would were not so selfish".

Selfish? Yes, Camilla Browne had always been the self-centered little girl, wanting to wear trousers and not lacy dresses, wanting to play cricket with her brothers instead learning to sew, wanting to ride a horse properly rather than side saddle, wanting to be loved by her mother instead of ignored.

"Are you going to renounce everyhingg your father and me have given you to marry a beat bobby?!"

"Yes". It was nothing to do with possessions or status. For once in her life Camilla felt safe and accepted and that was all she had been striving for all of her 32 years.

It was an Order of Nuns and a proper East End boy that had brought her more happiness and peace than clothes and diamonds could ever do.


	3. Chapter 3

_3 of 4_

"Richard Whittington's son is home from Canada" her mother said suddenly.

"Mother", Camilla said, her exasperation and dearest wish to just run from this place seeping through. Here she was, her daughter about to be betrothed, albeit to somebody she plainly thought was unsuitable, but she was still trying to force her hand.

"You know Alexander well enough Camilla"

"Yes I do" she thought. "I know Alexander Whittington well enough to know that most of his father's money is spent on horses".

"I do not like him enough to want to marry him Mother", Camilla could feel her voice becoming quieter, emptiness evident in her chest.

She knew little of men's habits, but the very concept of Alexander Whittington even holding her hand made her skin crawl.

Peter would certainly want to repeat, she imagined, what occurred between them a handful of nights ago and he had been so gentle with her that she could see herself being able to tolerate that aspect of a marriage. If she did not, she could only hope he might not be too demanding of her.

"This isn't about liking or indeed your definition of love Camilla. This is to do with connections. Alexander's father is a wealthy man. New York is his toy box Camilla. Think, you could live in New York instead of that hovel. His house is apparently divine and he dines with Royalty on a regular basis. You could have everything you have ever wanted at your fingertips. You would never have to work again".

"I have everything I could want here".

Her mother pulled a face.

"George Hendricks. He has been so alone since Grace died. Little Evelyn needs a mother".

Camilla had only seen sullen little Evelyn Hendricks once or twice since her schoolfriend Grace's death and she reminded her of herself - a little girl with too much of everything in an effort to make possessions replace a mother's love. She would want to run away with Evelyn, bring her up in the East End with Peter, and make sure she never wanted for pure unbridled affection and love like she did. She would let Evelyn scrape her knees and get mud on her shoes and if she ripped her best Sunday dress, Mum would just sew it back up again; not give her child sour looks for days for a spot of dirt.

Her mother was running out of options, until Camilla saw a metaphorical light flick on.

"Am I to expect the horrific prospect of a stock grandchild? Is that the reason you are so obstructive?"

Camilla's skin burned.

"No mother. We are marrying on 25th because we want to, not because we have to".

Whilst it would be lovely to have a child in a few years, and she knew Peter expected it, there was so much that she needed to do before then. As a midwife she knew enough ways to avoid pregnancy, but nothing was fool proof and if she was sitting here with a small speck of life growing inside her, that child would be loved and welcomed no matter when he or she decided to be born.

"Well at least I can count my blessings that you have seen enough sense not to contemplate that aspect of a marriage before its time. At least I can say whoever you marry, you can marry in white".

White. Notwithstanding that if she did, she would be lying in a House of God, she detested the colour, or lack of it.

"I have not decided what I will wear yet when I marry him", she said, genuinely having not paid very much attention to the thought yet.

Her mother's mind was working like a steam train, desperate to find a way to make this entire debacle more respectable in the alternative that she could not persuade her daughter to see sense. She knew deep down that she could do very little; they could not stop her and the thought of her eloping with him would make matters even more astounding.

"If you are so insistent then and until you see the error of your ways, I see we must make the best of a bad job. I know we cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear but I am sure I can find a designer in London for your dress to at least make matters more tolerable".

Camilla could not believe her ears. Her mother had swung from disapproval to wanting a hand in her wedding dress. She ought to have been accustomed to her mother's mood swings and manipulation but now, but she was truely bewildered and somewhat disconcerted at this sudden change of course.

"I was thinking of wearing blue". She hadn't been thinking of blue but the lady at the next table was wearing a rather striking blue dress and it was the first thing she saw.

"No, no, no, Camilla. You will wear white. It is a symbol of purity. A husband should expect that of his wife - whoever the husband might be".

Camilla breathed in an attempt to calm herself. She had no doubts that Peter had known she had nil experience of men; her nervousness at even kissing him should have been more than a signal. She did not know, however, whether he had cared or felt some kind of overwhelming morality that his wife ought to be pure – not that she was his wife now and she had certainly let him cross that particular line a few days ago.

It seemed to her, in her innocence, that he had not been too particular that she would walk down the aisle in white otherwise she would not have found herself on a scruffy settee in his lodgings, his hands in all kinds of places that no decent girl should allow.

"I will have to make an appointment with a designer for your gown and I do believe I should perhaps meet him again as well".

"Who?" Camilla replied. Meet the dress designer?

"The police officer".

"He has a name Mother"

"Yes, you will arrange for me to meet him again on Sunday".


	4. Chapter 4

_4 of 4_

Camilla closed her ears allowing her mother to carry on, not listening to her as she dissected the scone on the bone china plate in front of her, even though the last thing she felt like doing was eating.

She was tired now. It seemed as though her mother was drawing the very life from her. How she wished she was back in Peter's mother small kitchen whilst Irene fussed in her excitement that she could not find her best glasses to toast her son and daughter in law's future so they had to celebrate with wine in tea cups.

Camilla knew that despite his parent's honesty that they were wary of her and her background at first, that all of that mattered not one jot as they had seen their son with a spring in his step that they had not seen for years. For making their son happy, his father had said, she would be welcomed with open arms if she was dressed in silk or in rags. How plainly wonderful it was just to be accepted.

They had sat in that kitchen last Sunday celebrating the future as it should have been, however here she was now with her own mother, feeling as though she had been transported back to being that impossible, infuriating child who could never put a foot right.

As her mother's voice wittered in the background Camilla took another sip of tea, sad and frustrated, just wanting to run away; back to Poplar, up the winding staircase to his lodgings where he inhabited 4 small attic rooms and, whether he was there or not, curl up in an armchair and sleep.

She would tell him what happened today as, for the first time in her life, she had somebody who she could share her innermost fears with and he would listen. He had made it clear in the past that he did not truly understand the world her mother inhabited but at least Camilla could be sure that he would never ignore her fears and always try and soothe her anxiety, even though there were at times that he truly could not help. It was the same when they could share something joyful too.

One day they would say the vows "For Better or For Worse" whilst they stood at the altar and both would know that it was true.

EK


End file.
